


It's So Cold

by despairinglyNewt



Category: Minecraft - Fandom
Genre: "oh wow! you can make a little fanfic about this!", Ghostbur, Loggers!, Logsten, and i did exactly that, dream leaves tommy in da rain, i saw a fanart of tommy in the rain and went, idk i haven't watched the stream i'm just going off what i saw on tiktok and instagram, let tommyinnit go feral 2020, no beta we die like l'manburg, reference to smplive, spoilers? kinda, tommy is angry, tommyinnit has been exiled, tommyinnit is cold, tubbo and tommy fight, yes this is an arg reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27907909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/despairinglyNewt/pseuds/despairinglyNewt
Summary: Rain poured from the clouds above, it's almost as if the weather could sense that Tommy was upset. And he was. He watched as Dream walked away, both him and Wilbur's possessions burnt into nothingness. The realization of everything had finally kicked in, Tommyinnit had been exiled.And now he's left with nothing, and goddamn, it's so cold.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 97





	It's So Cold

_Drip, drip, drip, drip. That's the sound the rain made as they hit the leaves around Tommy._ The boy stood in a little clearing, the trees surrounding him like some kind of barrier. He watched as the familiar green hood sprinted away, dirty blond hair lay flat on his head as the rain hit the man without mercy.

Tommy was no different, his clothes were soaked, and his hair sat damp upon his head. He watched, too frozen to move, too shocked to say something smart. But, if he could say something, he'd probably call Dream a bitch before storming into the nearest cave entrance and drying himself off with what little materials he had gathered after Dream burnt everything he owned.

Just salt in the wound of being exiled.

At least _Schlatt_ had enough decency to leave him and Wilbur with their gear and tools. But even then, he had been exiled from L'Manburg. 

Tommy shook himself back to reality, ignoring the questions Wilbur had asked. Something about what Tommy will do now. It didn't matter. None of this mattered anymore. All he knew, was that he was in unfamiliar land that wasn't even claimed by the DreamSMP, along with the fact that he needed to get out of the rain, and fast. 

"Fucking Dream," Tommy grumbled as he pushed a poorly made crafting table against a log, dropping some sticks on the top before going back to where he stood previously to cut a tree down. "Asshole left us with nothing! _Nothing whatsoever!_ " He had punctuated his sentence with a harsh punch to the tree, ignoring the flares of pain that shot up from his fist. 

"They're all assholes– _all of them!_ " He was talking to no one in particular, most likely himself. He was more than pissed at this point, he was fucking _enraged._ The nation he fought so hard for, the nation he died _twice_ for, the nation he sacrificed his _discs_ for! And what did that nation give him in return? Nothing! Absolutely fucking nothing! 

Tommy let out one last angry shout as he punched the tree again, ignoring the warm blood slowly dripping down his knuckles. Ignoring the sharp pains as wood embedded into his knuckles; ignoring how the cold rain made his hair cover his eyes; ignoring how cold it was to be outside. He jerked back when a cold hand touched his shoulder, colder than ice it was. 

"Tommy, are you alright?" Wilbur.

"No! I'm not fucking alright," Tommy snarled, kicking himself away from the ghost. "I just got fucking exiled– and for what?" He wasn't looking for much of an answer, but Wilbur responded anyways.

"Because Dream's just a prick."

Tommy glared at Wilbur, storming back to his crafting table, ignoring how his ghostly friend tried to get a good look at his hand. "Fuck off, Will."

"Your hand is bleeding." Wilbur insisted, pulling Tommy's wrist up to get a good look at the bruised and bloodied knuckle. 

" _I said: fuck off!_ " Tommy shouted, yanking his hand away again. The anger ignited a fire within his blue eyes, he glared at Wilbur. "I don't need your help! Go find someone else to haunt– and get out of my life, you've ruined it enough!" He saw how Wilbur flinched, and felt a flicker of satisfaction. He deserved it, after everything that happened in Pogtopia, he deserved it.

"O-oh, well, alright then," Wilbur sounded hurt, but Tommy ignored it. He deserved it. "I'll... leave you be, goodbye, Tommy."

"Goodbye, Wilbur." He deserved it. Tommy kept repeating that to himself as the ghostly precense vanished entirely, good riddance. Probably off flirting with salmon in the ocean, or whatever. He quietly scoffed to himself, or he's probably off playing around with the _others,_ the traitors they are. Probably off fucking around after the obsidian walls were torn down.

The thought of everyone going along with their day as if nothing had happened made Tommy's blood boil. He shivered and swore, shoving the sticks into his pocket and picked up the crafting table. Looking for an entrance of some sort of cave, anything to keep him out of this rain. He groaned inwardly as he dropped the table down underneath an overhang, at least it was sheltered by the rain here. Though he was still cold.

He made a mental note to get some wool in the morning– if he didn't freeze during the night. He shuddered as he pulled some vine from his pocket, tying the stick and the little wood he had collected into a makeshift axe. It wasn't sharp, but it wasn't dull either. It could kill one or two animals before breaking, perhaps more if he got lucky. Now, he was no Technoblade in making weapons and armor, but he was decent enough at it. 

Besides, if his axe broke, he could always scavange for more large, sturdy sticks and create more. 

Tommy grunted as he curled up against the stone, it wasn't comfortable, but it was better than sitting out in the rain. It was far better than sitting out in the rain, waiting for the wolves to surround him. He shivered as he heard a distant howl, he may as well sleep now. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, turning on his side, exhaustion quickly snatched him away from the real world. And the night seemed to fly by as he slept for hours. 

As he awoke, the rain had gone, and it seemed although the sun had been rising for a while now. Tommy shivered, pushing his hair out of his face. He pulled his axe out and begun to trek outside of the forest. Perhaps he'd get lucky and take down a few sheep for a bed and a cloak– one would think he'd warm up by now, but no, he was _freezing._

Tommy walked for a while, pausing as an odd structure started to peek over the hill. He seemingly forgot his previous task and begun to investigate what exactly it was. Yet, as if to answer is question, it seemed although it was an old and abandoned campsite. A border surrounded it, and Tommy simply walked inside. It may have been a silly idea to just waltz into the unknown, but when one has nothing to lose, what else does he have left?

Cobwebs littered the corners of the barrier, it had been abandoned for a long time. The walls were covered in moss, and the wood was seemingly rotting at this point. There were barrels full of spoiled food; some kind of blue material; small golden nuggets pressed into some kind of flat thing, each had something written on them in a language long since forgotten by time. He peeked into the tent, battered by weather, but the bed inside was safe from the elements, and so was the small bag.

Curiosity overcame Tommy as he knelt and pulled the bag onto his lap, peeking inside and preparing for some sort of disgusting creature inside.

But all was inside was a sweater– a blue one at that, some new jeans, too. Tommy wasted no time in dressing himself in the new clothing, though the sweater was a little big on him, the jeans fit just alright, a little baggy, but alright. He dusted off his new clothes and shoved the wet clothes into the bag, pausing, and unpacking it. The bag would come in handy, the ruined clothes would not. 

He made a mental note to burn them later, pulling the bag over his shoulder. Tommy ignored the bitter cold that bit at his hands and nose, ignoring how his hands trembled every so often. Why was he so cold? 

Tommy then begun to pull the barrels with the rotten food off the pile, he'd bury it in a moment. In the meantime, he'd check the other barrels. 

Barrel one had the golden coins.

Barrel two had some tools, all stone. They'd be useful in a bit when Tommy found the time to start collecting more materials.

Barrel three had the blue substance.

Barrel four had rotten food.

Barrel five had some pieces of old parchment inside, most had writing in the same language that the coin had, but there were maps too. He was lucky that Phil had taught him the basics in this old language, all he could really understand were the words "smp," and "live." Perhaps an ancient land, whoever lived here was probably long dead by now. 

Tommy stared at the map for a few long moments, not at all recognizing the landmarks on it. Some were funny, like the huge penis built on the lake. While others were downright confusing, like the coin shape next to the tree. He shrugged, tossing the map over his shoulder and digging back into the barrel. He wasn't expecting much, as almost everything was written in the old language. Though, something caught his eye. A newer-looking one, though faded with some age. It seemed less than a few months old, unlike the older ones that seemed as though they were sitting there for almost a year. 

He skimmed the page, most of it written in English. Something about a "new land," but the rest was just scribbled words. Chicken scratch, as it was called. 

He tossed the paper over his shoulder, before closing the barrel, he then picked the one with the food up and begun finding some place to bury it away. He couldn't stand the smell of the spoiled food. 

After a while of searching for a place, Tommy gave up and just placed it far enough away from his new base and sprinted back. He'd need to find something to create a food source with, though there were many apples around in the forest, that could make a good food source until he found something to farm with. 

Tommy shivered as he walked back into the base, goosebumps made his neck hair rise. It was so cold. He ignored the rustling of paper as he stepped on them, making a beeline for the bed inside the tent. He almost considered putting the bed inside the actual cabin, but decided against it. He could do it later, anyways. All he wanted was a nap, really. 

He nearly collapsed into the sheets as he buried himself under them, he hadn't slept in an actual bed for days, it was refreshing. The sounds of the forest around lulled him back to sleep. He hadn't the faintest clue how long he had slept, but the sounds of someone walking around and someone speaking had jolted him awake. 

_Dream?_ He thought, groggily. But was met with another face.

"-Tommy?" A feeling of anger hit him again. Tubbo.

"Can't a guy get some sleep?" Tommy grumbled, sitting up. He shot a glare to the brown haired teen, kicking off the blankets.

"I brought you some of your things, I, uh," Tubbo looked away from Tommy, holding out some of his other clothes. "I'm sorry."

Silence. Was that it? Just a sorry? Oh, what, sorry for kicking you out of your country, me, your best friend, the person who was supposed to have your back in anything.

"Sorry? Is that all you have to say?" Tommy got out from the tent, he stepped away from Tubbo, shooting him a hateful glare. He ignored the hurt flashing in his gaze. "You're my best friend, Tubbo! You kicked me out of L'Manb-"

"I did what I had to do!" Tubbo shot back, his voice raising.

"You followed Dream's orders!"

"He threatened war!"

"And we could've taken him!"

"Are you hearing yourself? No, we couldn't've! Tommy, we _just_ started recovering from the last war, how do you think _another_ war against Dream, of all people, would affect us?! Tommy, if I hadn't exiled you, who _knows_ who would've died this time? Eret's betrayal already killed us and knocked off one life, then your duel knocked off another from you!" 

"Oh, so _now_ you act as though you care!" Tommy snapped, shoving Tubbo. "Where was that when you watched as Dream literally threatened to permanently kill me! Where was that when you told Dream to escort me out of L'Manburg?" 

Tubbo stumbled back, his hurt suddenly turning into anger.

"You did this to yourself, Tommy! You burnt George's house down-"

"It was a fucking accident!"

"-you burnt it down, and didn't expect Dream to flip the fuck out!" 

Tommy reacted quickly, his hand turning into a fist as he swung at Tubbo. There wasn't much thought put into it, just emotions of anger and betryal. When his fist connected with a face, Tommy quickly backed away from Tubbo, his face contorted in anger.

"Go back to your fucking country, _president_ Tubbo." Tommy hissed, watching as Tubbo stumbled to his feet and sprinted out of the base. The clothes long since forgotten on the floor. He watched as his old friend left, leaving him behind. Tommy turned away with a growl, rain clouds formed above and Tommy stood still as the first few drops of a storm fell on his head. 

_He's gone. This is_ my _kingdom now,_ my _country._ Tommy slowly begun to grin. _He's gone, he's gone, he's gone, he's gone—_

" _He's gone!_ " Tommy shouted to the skies above, his hands running through his blond hair. A euphoric feeling bubbled up inside him as he spun around in the rain. He was free from L'Manburg, never to be welcomed back, and that was _fine!_ Everything was fine! He'd lead a new country– _he can be president now!_

A cough soon began to form in his throat, a honking cough came from him, and he leaned over, catching his breath. 

"This– everything I've worked for, no longer a waste-!" Tommy gasped, falling into a sitting position, the grass wet on his hands but he no longer cared. "I'll be president— _the_ president!" Another cough. 

A laugh bubbled in Tommy's stomach as he fell onto his back, staring up at the dark clouds as the rain pitter-pattered on the grass and his face. 

"It's me, baby!" He laughed, speaking his thoughts aloud again. His laugh was cut short by another loud cough, he leaned on his side, a shiver running through his body. He stayed on his side, the laugh slowly dying

It's so cold.


End file.
